


Qui-Gon’s Reaction

by Firondoiel



Series: Recovery [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Major Character Injury, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon Lives, Whump, Worried Qui-Gon Jinn, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firondoiel/pseuds/Firondoiel
Summary: After weeks of waiting and worrying, Qui-Gon finally has a moment to process the gravity of what has happened.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Recovery [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862353
Comments: 16
Kudos: 217





	Qui-Gon’s Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a collaborative effort by the members of the QuiObi Writing Discord.
> 
> Updates will be posted every other Sunday.

The door slid closed behind the departing healers with a soft click leaving Qui-Gon alone on the other side. He stared at the door in front of his face. It was a gentle grey, no doubt intentionally chosen for its calming tincture in anticipation of the suffering that would happen inside this room. As if something that insignificant could have any true effect.

Yet Qui-Gon had to acknowledge that it was soothing to look at it. Especially now that there was finally something good to process after the unrelenting onslaught of the last few days. Ever since Naboo, it felt as though time rapidly moved beyond any measure of control. Unwilling to slow down even for a moment. But it also felt like it had been an age since Qui-Gon had been able to simply stand still and think about something as unimportant as the color of a door.

Obi-Wan was stable. Finally stable. After all the surgeries and experimental treatments and sudden turns for the worse. He was stable. For the first time, there were no healers hovering and ready to intervene within seconds if one of the monitors blared. They had cautioned Qui-Gon about being too optimistic, but Obi-Wan had lived through every procedure, and his vitals were holding. They had officially given him permission to hope.

Qui-Gon let himself breathe. Slowly and deeply. The loss of the usual frenzied pace of the room made the relative silence seem abrupt and startling. But he was grateful for it. He became aware of the tightness in his body. His stiff shoulders protested as he tried to release some of the tension that gripped them.

He turned around from the door, vaguely noting a strange and uneasy churning in his gut. It was likely his stomach reminding him that sustenance was needed to continue. It could wait.

His gaze landed on the still form in the bed – unmoving except for the rising and falling of the chest that was breathing evenly on its own. The organized mess of tubes and wires surrounding Obi-Wan would never cease to be an unsettling sight, but he was sleeping peacefully. His face was still far too pale and gaunt, but it was completely relaxed. The Force lifted the fervent urgency that had unforgivingly weighed on Qui-Gon since the refinery center.

A loud sob shattered the quietness.

Qui-Gon realized the sound had to have come from himself. He raised his hand. It was trembling. He pressed it to his mouth. His shoulders locked tight again, and the knot in his stomach now expanded to his chest. His lungs started to burn as the figure of his padawan blurred and wetness leaked from his eyes.  
His body stiffened as he tried to fight against the unyielding torrent swelling inside him. It pushed back until the pressure became unbearable, and another sob burst from him. 

Unwelcome thoughts whirled through him. It had been so close. He had told Anakin that it would be alright. He had told the healers that the worst would not happen. He had told himself that the Force would not will anything except recovery.

Now, Qui-Gon stood shaking as a rush of fear belatedly crashed over him.

There had been so many times that Obi-Wan had almost slipped away. The healers had given Qui-Gon several glances of sympathy, even though they didn’t dare say anything. They had known how unlikely it was that Qui-Gon would get to see Obi-Wan’s eyes alert and without pain. That it would be foolish to expect another chance to sit and listen to Obi-Wan’s voice speaking strongly and clearly.

_Force._

Obi-Wan was supposed to prepare for his Trials once he got back to the Temple, not fight for his life in the Healers Ward.

Tears streamed down Qui-Gon’s cheeks, soaking into his beard. He squeezed his eyes shut and spasmed silently until another harsh sob ripped its way out of him. A choked, ugly sound. He clamped his hand more firmly over his mouth and wrapped an arm around his middle; drawing his long robe around himself, trying to stifle his outbursts.

Exhaustion made him sway on his feet. Qui-Gon dragged himself to the chair by the bed and dropped into it. Obi-Wan’s breathing continued uninterrupted. From this close, the young man still looked as though he could pass into the Force at any moment.

Qui-Gon buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to weep. An agonizing pang throbbed over his heart as his chest seized with each biting sob. He curled in on himself and rocked back and forth in the chair, attempting to escape from the pain in his body. But it followed him mercilessly.

He did not know how long he cried. It was until the tears dried up, or maybe he was just too tired to go on. Tremors ran through muscles too weary to continue holding the stress they had been carrying.

The twinge in his chest receded to a dull soreness. He sniffed, then wiped at his face. He used his sleeve to dab at his eyes and over his wet beard, then took several long, shuddering breaths. They did nothing to ease the ache, but he felt lighter, like he had been wrung out until his body was empty.

Obi-Wan still slept. 

Qui-Gon swiped at his face again then reached out and took Obi-Wan’s hand. It wasn’t a gesture that he did often. The rare moments when he had done so came to his mind: the time a young Obi-Wan had taken ill with fever, the aftermaths of nightmares, and Obi-Wan’s first wound in the line of duty. Mostly times when Obi-Wan was younger, wide-eyed and still growing. Now as Qui-Gon curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s hand, he couldn’t help noticing that it was still much smaller than his own. 

The hum of the monitoring machines and the faint noise of activity in the rest of the Hall were a gentle background to the soft sound of Obi-Wan’s exhales. Beautiful, natural exhales that Obi-Wan could finally take on his own without a machine artificially pumping air into his lungs. 

Qui-Gon sat listening to Obi-Wan breathing and let his mind wander through the past. He stroked his thumb over Obi-Wan’s knuckles, slowly enough to feel each knob of bone under the skin. Obi-Wan’s palm felt smooth against the pads of Qui-Gon’s fingers. All the callouses from handling a lightsaber had been healed during his time in the bacta. 

Qui-Gon thought of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. He had forgotten it in his haste to find help after the battle. Someone had surely discovered it. He should reach out to the queen. She would see that it was returned to its rightful owner. If Obi-Wan learned that his lightsaber had been lost by his own master when he awoke, he would never let Qui-Gon hear the end of it. 

The sharp pang in Qui-Gon’s chest returned. 

He was a fool. All of his focus had rested on Obi-Wan not succumbing to his injury. He had given no thought to what happened after that. After they were assured that Obi-Wan’s stability would continue and that he would regain consciousness.

Images of days wrought with pain and frustration flashed through Qui-Gon’s mind. Helplessness at being unable to to even rise from bed. Retraining damaged muscles how to function. Adjusting to new organs. Relearning how to walk--if paralysis had been avoided. A bedside table filled with hyposprays and medicine bottles. Something that would be found in the bedroom of a frail and ailing master in his final days. Not by the bed of a young man on the cusp of knighthood. 

Qui-Gon blinked at the returning sting in his eyes. He realized that Obi-Wan surviving was his miracle. Obi-Wan recovering to full health was an impossibility. His grip tightened around Obi-Wan’s hand. 

There were still so many uncertainties and questions to be answered. Qui-Gon did not know how everything was going to unfold, but he knew that he would find a way to make it work. He had guided and watched over Obi-Wan for the past thirteen years. Even though all he could do at the present was watch, he strongly believed that would change. He would honor his promise to Anakin while caring for Obi-Wan. 

Tears did not escape him this time, but Qui-Gon lowered his forehead to their clasped hands. The sorrow that welled in his heart was a different kind of ache. He grieved for all that his padawan had lost and for the difficult path now in front of Obi-Wan. Despite his thankfulness and relief, Qui-Gon knew that things would never be the same again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
